


re: despair (or distant axis)

by ficfacfoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x19 coda, Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfacfoe/pseuds/ficfacfoe
Summary: Something Like A Character Study in Repression. 15x19 codaWhen Dean's phone vibrates in his pocket, he feels it ringing all the way through his ribcage. Before looking at the caller ID, he knows who it is, clenches his teeth and takes a steadying breath. He stops the car to step outside, away from Sam's curious gaze. Dean knows that, this time, it's not the devil on the line. He knows that this time, everything is on the line.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 59
Kudos: 385





	re: despair (or distant axis)

**Author's Note:**

> listen to my dean playlist for the full experience <3 link is on the song lyrics

[ _ there’s a pattern to the way the world is tearing up _ _  
_ _ i think it’s happening to me _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2vP5ErxM4WsJr0K4RqooYY?si=eBxigs4qRTSkPGY8l6OkeA)

  
  
  


When Dean's phone vibrates in his pocket, he feels it ringing all the way through his ribcage. Before looking at the caller ID, he knows who it is, clenches his teeth and takes a steadying breath. He stops the car to step outside, away from Sam's curious gaze. Dean knows that, this time, it's not the devil on the line. He knows that this time, everything is on the line. 

"Cas." 

A shuddering intake of air has Dean's skin crawling. "Dean."

His chest feels too tight to contain the expanse of relief stretching inside him in reaction to Cas’s voice. Fearful, angry tightness attempts to take over his body.

Over the phone, he hears rustling, the front door of the bunker opening and shutting behind Cas. "Jack brought me back," he explains uselessly, because of course. Of course. Dean knew that. "Where are you, Dean?"

Dean swallows, the tightness clawing its way up from his chest through his throat. He feels like spilling over. He eyes the Impala, Sam busy with his own phone in the passenger seat. He knows he can't avoid this. His feet and hands are itching to jump behind the wheel and speed back more recklessly than he's ever dared in his life. The feeling is dizzying. He wants to apologise for not having stayed home, he wants to ignore everything that's changed and he wants to yell at Cas about it, all at the same time. He says, "Coming," and hangs up.

Sam has to leave, thank god, Eileen called. Dean is left to rush down the stairs on his own, to grapple with the ebb and flow of anger and joy fighting for dominance over his whole, shaking being. Cas is right there, still and solid as a tree by the table. Dean collides into him, his resolve collapsing, relief taking over. He wants to say,  _ don’t ever do that again _ , but it feels redundant. Cas is warm in his arms, strong hands clawing at Dean’s back. They take a few breaths together, Dean’s heart hammering so hard he’s pretty sure he can feel it reflected back in the rhythmic shaking of Cas’s shoulders. 

For no reason whatsoever, the first thing Dean says is, “I’m sorry,” but it makes him clench his teeth hard. He shakes his head where it rests next to Cas’s. “That’s not what I meant.” Dean closes his eyes and uses both hands against Cas’s upper chest to push himself back. He forces his eyes open and is met with a serene look from Cas that  _ hurts _ , raw like a wound. Dean looks down at where his palms cover the lapels of the trenchcoat. He gathers every ounce of bravery he can muster. He doesn’t get why this is so hard, he doesn’t get any of it. Finally, he looks right into blue eyes and tries again, and what comes out this time is, “Thank you, Cas.”

A small smile travels across the Cas’s face. He raises his own hands to briefly rest them over Dean’s, and it sends the room spinning. “Hello, Dean.” His voice is raspy like he’s been crying, and Dean can’t stand it, can’t stand this close to Cas but can’t leave either, can’t stop his hands from inching up towards Cas’s neck, gripping tightly. There’s a sharp stinging behind his eyes and Dean lets them slide shut, lets his head drift forward until it rests against Cas’s. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers, “what are you…” and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, not at all. All he knows is that he needs to get the things he has to say out  _ now _ , like,  _ right _ now, or his head might explode. 

Breathlessly, Dean starts, “You said the one thing you want you can't have. But what… Cas, man, you gotta tell me,” and he’s already running out of steam, he doesn’t know how to do this, how to ask for anything. “Just,” he tries again, “tell me again.” His teeth hurt from how hard he’s clenching them. This feels like choking, Dean thinks, and gasps a laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole universe. He can’t open his eyes. He struggles to open his mouth one more time. “I need you to tell me again, use your words. Cause none of this makes any damn sense.” 

Now, Cas’s hands land on Dean’s shoulders, and it burns, the way Cas halts to put space between them before speaking. Dean blinks his eyes open.

Cas’s head is tilted minutely, brows knitting together in something like wonder when he says, “I don’t expect you to reciprocate the way I feel about you.”

The floor is caving in, Dean thinks, or his knees are. He averts his eyes, lets them dance around the room pointlessly. There’s nothing there to focus on, no getting out of having this conversation. 

“Cas... please,” he shakes his head to himself, “just... help me here, you gotta help me, man.”

This changes something. There’s a tremble in Cas’s voice that aches when he states, plainly, “I can't take it back. I won't take it back.” His eyes shine sharply with defiance. Dean wants to scream.

“No, that's not what I meant,” he grits out between huffed breaths. It’s not what he means at all, and this conversation is getting away from him, he doesn’t even know where it’s supposed to be going but  _ not _ that way, damn it. Like clawing blindly through feet of dirt. He’s still holding on to Cas’s coat and the thought crosses his mind that he could just shake him until things fall into place in his head, or maybe punch him a little. Instead, Dean tries words again, tries, “It’s just that I don’t… I mean, I can’t-”

Cas stops him, eyes cast down. “You don’t have to.” Blindly through the dirt. He doesn’t remember the last time he took a breath that didn’t taste like soil. He feels like crying, he feels wholly stupid. He can’t drop his hands, and Cas is just standing there with his head dropped, perfectly useless, and Dean is so overwhelmed with every part of it. He steps closer, one of his hands coming up to tilt Cas’s face toward him. His fingers dig into Cas’s jaw harder than necessary.

“Cas, I swear, I’m trying to tell you something here, would you just listen?” 

He flinches a little. Says, “Okay.” There are oceans staring back at him instead of eyes, Dean thinks: oceans. 

He can feel the tension in Cas’s jaw. His head falls forward again, he can’t help it. He squeezes his eyes shut. He feels both his own and Cas’s pulse where their foreheads touch, now. “What do you think you want that you don’t already have?” Dean asks quietly, acutely aware of the way Cas’s breath hits his own face erratically. And he thinks, _ me. _ He can still hear it, clear as a fucking bell, the whole speech, his ears are ringing with it. And, helplessly, his mind supplies,  _ damn it, you have me _ . 

Cas’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “I know I have you, as a friend, of course I know that.”

Hotly, anger bites its way up Dean’s thorat. “Oh, cut the crap.” He pushes himself from Cas. Stares him down. His tone doesn’t match his thoughts, at all, nothing ever comes out right. “Right, as a friend.” Dean takes a step back, gestures at nothing. “Cause that’s all I’ve ever been to you. Best friend, family, that’s all we’ve ever been.” He doesn’t know why this is making his blood boil, but it is. He feels cheated of the truth. Whatever he would or wouldn’t have done with it, he feels cheated out of  _ years _ . “We never-” he turns toward the table, slams a hand down on it. Glares at Cas sideways. “You drop this bomb on me? You never did anything about it. Ever.” His throat is hoarse like Dean’s been shouting, and maybe he has been, just a little.

“What was I supposed to do?” Cas asks calmly. Well, how the hell is  _ he _ supposed to know? Heat rises to Dean’s cheeks. Exasperated, he leans back against the table, runs his hands across his face once. Cas is just  _ standing _ there, in the exact same spot he’s been in since Dean entered the bunker, and it’s driving Dean crazy. Are his feet glued to the floor? Did he forget how to use them? Angrily, Dean pushes himself away from the table again, he really wants to shove Cas, just to make sure he isn’t suddenly immovable. Instead of actually shoving him, Dean throws, “You’re supposed to tell me you’re not happy!” at Cas, and it hits. “You gotta tell me these things before you pull crap like that.”

“You’re angry that I kept the deal from you.” Yeah, no shit, Dean thinks, but then he almost topples over because no, that’s not what this is about. Have they been having two entirely different conversations this whole time? They’re running in circles, Dean realises, and keeps realising, and doesn’t stop realising. Cas, immovable, right there. Heaving a sigh that carries the weight of the world, Dean goes back to stand in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t think you'd want to talk about it.” Well, bull’s eye. Of their own accord, Dean’s hands settle back on Cas’s shirt collar, he’s swaying a little and he’s pulling Cas back and forth with him. He stares at Cas’s stupid, unmoving feet. _ Just move _ , he thinks,  _ just do something about it _ .

“What do you want, Dean?” 

Oh, how he wants to say, “Kiss me,” he’s brainless with it, wants to say it so bad and he  _ can’t _ , he can’t even  _ think _ about saying it without his whole body going numb in irrational, bone-deep fear, but he’s praying, silently, praying  _ please, please _ , and Cas is inexplicably nudging forward until they’re nose to nose, and Dean is the one frozen in place now, hardly breathing. He wills Cas to close the gap, for this to finally be done with, he wants everything he’s ever wanted to melt away, but he can’t do anything about it. He wants, he needs Cas to tell him again, to tell him everything, but most importantly-- 

And then Cas does. “You don’t have to say it,” plays like a ghost across Dean’s lips, “It’s okay. Just tell me if you change your mind.” Like Dean has any chance in hell to turn back now. Like he even has a functioning mind left. Cas puts his mouth on his, kisses Dean like it’s not the most earth-shattering thing two men could ever do. He kisses Dean and  _ oh _ , oh. 

So this is not the end of the world. 

Dean wraps his hands around Cas’s throat, feels the wild flutter of his pulse on both sides, and presses closer, kissing him back with a gasp and a shudder. He curses himself under his breath, against Cas’s lips, for being so stubborn. Years, he thinks, they could’ve had this for  _ years _ . He’s not sure what he’s saying, but he’s mumbling between kisses like a boiling over of some sort, something broke and stopped and restarted inside him and now he can’t contain the words, can’t focus on anything except how real this feels. 

When Cas finally pulls back, the look in his eyes has Dean guessing he didn’t say anything horribly wrong. He’s reassured further when Cas says, “It’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world, now. You’re okay.”

And, light like a feather, it sinks in. He laughs to himself, at himself, at the both of them. And finally, finally, Dean Winchester is saved. 

**Author's Note:**

> leave your hatemail in the comments :)


End file.
